Keep on Seeking, and You Shall Find
by EPICnicole
Summary: "Sleep well. Soon, we will change the world, little ones."


One would think she'd be bitter. Maybe angry, perhaps hateful. But to be truly honest, Amunet felt none of these things toward Cleopatra VII. If anything, she felt acutely apprehensive and vaguely disgusted towards the Ptolemaic pharaoh; the woman seemed to have no sense of morality-not that many of the Egyptian monarchs did.

But aside from this, only a strong desire to simply be done with this mess in the most efficient manner possible. Oh, to simply run the queen through with a sword, disappear, and live out her remaining years in peace-something seldom present in her life. However, the Brotherhood had other ideas for this "delicate matter." Although the hours of planning had irked her, she understood their caution and need for such carefulness-killing the queen of Egypt, and making it look like an accident? Yes, she thought wryly, a delicate matter indeed.

"There can be no witnesses!" Gaius had squawked, strongly reminding her of a disgruntled mother hen. "But you must not kill anyone, save for her! You cannot compromise your position-make it an accident, a suicide, something! You must-"

At this point she'd tossed a throwing knife close enough to his head to part the frizzy mop of hair that adorned his scalp.

"Calm yourself, _shai_. I have a plan," she'd cut across her frantic Roman contact, who then contented himself with scowling at her as she drew plans, maps, and diagrams, detailing the fate of the world in a crumbling, one-room stone hut on the edge of a small village.

By the time the three candles in the center of the table had burned down to nubs, the two assassins had thoroughly gone over her plans several times. With Octavian's armies fast approaching, this opportunity was more precious to them than all of the gold in six pharaohs' tombs.

Amunet pushed open the rickety bundle of reeds that served as a door to step out into the chill desert night, and found Nakhti waiting patiently with two camels, pensively flicking his hidden blade in and out. "I wasn't expecting to see you. I thought you had an assignment? Some slaver from the Great Desert, correct?"

"Yes," he replied, and drew a bloodstained triangle of papyrus from within his leather knapsack. "It's already taken care of. The man was quite foolish. He was bathing, his back to the window, the shutters wide open- he was practically asking to be assassinated. I came to report my success to Gaius," he explained.

"But how did you know I was here?" she queried, cocking her head to one side.

He huffed. "Can't you just be grateful I came to escort you?" He scuffed his boot in the sand. "Women..."

It was at that moment that Gaius chose to appear, flinging open his door to frantically look around, before spotting the two assassins and sighing in relief. "Nakhti! Back so soon?"

"Yes. I was successful," he said proudly, handing the bit of papyrus to Gaius.

"Excellent. Write a report for me tonight. Get it here by tomorrow afternoon. No doubt the mentor will want to hear the good news." The frazzled Roman then turned to Amunet, fixing her tall frame in a beady glare. Then he abruptly limped forward on his cane to embrace her, choking out what sounded suspiciously like a sob as she staggered under the unexpected display of affection. He then pulled away, sniffling.

"You'd better not get yourself killed. I won't have anyone to argue with if you do," he croaked, before swinging around and hobbling back into the house, slamming the rickety door behind him hard enough to rattle it in its frame.

Nakhti arched a thick black brow, and said, "I wonder, are all of our Roman brothers and sisters this strange?"

She laughed. "Gaius is... eccentric. That little display you just saw? Coming from him, that is equivalent to 'I love you.'" She strode over to the finely tacked camel, and hauled herself up using a stirrup.

Nakhti frowned. "I would have helped you." "Only because you'd get a peek up my skirt."

"That is _not_ true."

"Sure," she smirked, as he mounted his camel and kicked, his eye-patch crooked and his face slightly red. He'd always had a soft spot for her, since she'd joined the Brotherhood; occasionally, if the circumstances were right, she'd indulge that soft spot. Why, just a few lunar cycles ago (or "months," as Gaius called them), they'd both had a bit too much wine in a warm tent filled with the heady scent of incense, and their clothes had wound up in crumpled heaps on the floor while they-

"Amunet? Did you hear me?"

She quickly snapped out of her reverie to face the dark skinned man next to her. She grinned. "No."

He rolled his remaining eye. "I asked if your plans were set." He turned forward and urged the camel on faster.

She sobered quickly, and said slowly, "They are. And now I must proceed with utmost caution." She paused, then continued more softly, "I do not want to fail, not only because of the fate of the rest of the world, nor our Brotherhood, but because the pharaoh's death with make me freer than I have been since I joined her court five years ago.

"Please don't think me selfish," she added hastily, "but I am sick of the politics, the intrigue... I wish to escape that woman and her perversions more than I thought could be possible."

"I do not think such of you. After such a life as yours, these desires are quite understandable."

"Thank you."

"It is nothing. I merely speak the truth."

They separated shortly thereafter, when Amunet stopped at a stable to switch her camel for a more ostentatious, royal-looking white mare with a gold-and-leather saddle, and arrived at the elaborately sculpted obscenity that was the palace well after midnight. The building still bustled with activity, even in the darkest hours of the night.

Time had seemed to be blurring and running together over these past few days, she mused as she climbed the stairs, she mused as she climbed the stairs. She was being irrevocably pulled closer and closer towards a precipice that she was still wary of, but wanted to cross nonetheless.

"Amunet!"

She turned to find Kemisi, a court entertainer like herself, bounding towards her, the bells on her anklet jingling with frenetic good humor.

"Kemisi, dear, how are you?"

"I am quite well. I have news! I am so excited!" squealed the younger woman, who was positively trembling with exuberance. Amunet often felt tired just looking at her, even though she was only six years her senior. She gestured for her to continue, smiling slightly.

"Well...," she blushed a deep copper red, "You know the boy I told you about, the one who works down in the kitchens..."

"Yes, I recall."

"He kissed me!" she burst out, mahogany eyes wide and dreamy. "It was like... like a dream! Or, I don't know, flying! I don't know, I'm not a bird," she giggled.

Amunet smiled; she loved the youth and innocence of this younger woman. It was nice to see something pure in the midst of all the debauchery at the palace. Kemisi was not naïve, but still held a certain childish joy in every fiber of her being.

"Ah, but do you have any ideas on how to keep him by your side?"

Kemisi's brows furrowed, and Amunet was momentarily slapped with guilt, thinking she'd caused her friend undue worry, until her face broke into an elated smile again, and she declared, "I know! I will compose a song for him!" her dark African skin gleaming like velvet, while her face was set in comical determination.

"An excellent idea, Kemisi," Amunet chuckled. "You are the best harpist in this palace. Once he hears you play, he won't be able to find an engagement gift at the bazaar fast enough!"

Kemisi smiled, something she rarely did due to the large gap where her two front teeth had been knocked out, marring her otherwise perfect countenance. As they bid their goodnights to one another, Amunet realized this may be the last time she'd see her friend.

"Kemisi?"

"Yes?"

She hesitated. "You should get out of the palace for a few days, dear. Why don't you pay a visit to your family?"

"I... well, I suppose..."

"Just go, please?"

"I will. Amunet, what is wrong?"

"I wish I could tell you, but I cannot. Please, heed me. And do not speak of this to anyone."

"Very well," Kemisi said uncertainly.

"Be safe, my friend." Amunet said, heading into the palace. She could not, in good conscience, leave her friend in harm's way.

Wearily, Amunet closed the door to her private chambers, bolting the door in place. She strode over to her mirror, pulling off her braided wig as she walked to run a hand over her bare scalp. She stared into the mirror, her own kohl-lined brown eyes staring broodingly back at her, painted lips tugged into an uneasy frown. She pinched her cheeks, noting how they'd become slightly thinner. Though she was and assassin, and had to keep her strength up, she found herself too nervous to eat as of late.

She shook herself, turning away from the mirror and towards a silver-and-jewel encrusted door that led away from her bedchambers. The door fit very tightly into its frame, with no room to spare, and for good reason. A large silver key in hand, she unlocked the door, and stepped inside her snake room.

This was what earned Amunet her keep at the pharaoh's palace-the queen was particularly entertained by the art of snake charming. She was endlessly delighted by the hold Amunet had over the deadly serpents. Run a finger here, whisper a few words there, and a fierce cobra would sway and dance, or lay docile and tranquil in her lap. Her one talent, the one thing that made her exceptional. After all, her birth and upbringing did not scream "nobility."

She hadn't ever met her mother, but knew of her-a whore in the worst part of Alexandria, who died from blood loss after hours (or perhaps days) of sweating and crying, trying to deliver a baby that was simply too big for her still immature womb; when Djal had come upon her-only a boy himself then- she'd been breathing her last in a sewage-bogged back alley gutter.

"She asked me to save you once she died, to... to take you _out _of her, with my dagger," the thief would recount to her, as he laid on his own deathbed, consumption overtaking his body. His eyes begged her to understand. "I did not want to. I did not want to do... _that_. But before I could say no, she'd passed. I could not dishonor the wishes of a dead woman, she had implored me. So," he choked, weeping openly, "I took you from... her womb, with my dagger. I cut the cord, which was wrapped around your neck, and slapped your back, and you cried." He gulped. "You lived. Despite all of these things- your birth, the cord... you lived."

Djal had been fifteen years old, and yet he took her in like a younger sister. Taught her to survive by charming snakes for coin, by stealing, and by killing if necessary. He'd died when she was fourteen. She'd mourned him. She despaired for days, but had seen enough of life to know that his death was a merciful one. He'd been in so much pain, and she knew he would have smacked her for falling apart. So, she'd carried on. Did not lament her position in life, did not curl up in a ball of sorrow for things she had no power over. In the back of her mind, she knew she would not last long without him, but Amunet accepted the hand life had dealt her and moved on.

As for joining the Brotherhood, she'd gotten lucky. Amunet had tried to steal from Nakhti, and nearly succeeded; she was desperately hungry, and only a few weeks had passed since she'd buried Djal. Needless to say, Nakhti caught her. And for once, fortune's hand was gentle upon Amunet's existence.

Amunet surveyed the room, filled with snake-baskets of varying sizes made from woven reeds, before pulling the top off of a large basket to uncover the long, coal-colored asp inside. She crooned softly at the snake, reaching in to let the snake flick his tongue out over her skin, as if in greeting. The smooth-scaled creature coiled his long, powerful body up around her arm. He settled himself, comfortably wound about her forearm.

The assassin then turned to a pair of smaller baskets, and retrieved her latest acquisitions- a pair of recently-hatched spitting cobras, all burnt-orange scales and beady eyes, from the jungles beyond the Great Desert. The two hatchlings eagerly curled their small, cool bodies (barely a foot long) into the warmth of her hands. Though she knew they had no understanding of her words, she stared down at the three snakes, and whispered, "Sleep well. Soon, we change the world, little ones."


End file.
